I wake up, distinct lack of enthusiasm for moving from the bed to the bathroom despite an insistant nagging from my bladder. I lie there almost dozing for a couple of hours, halfheartedly trying to convince myself it’d be a good idea to get out of bed – I know if I really push myself I can move but it all just seems like too much effort for no good reason.

I play over my options in my mind: I could watch tv, check my mail, read a book, do some beading.. Nope, the most attractive of those options is reading my mail – but since I know all i’ll have are support group messages or spam, that can wait as well.
It’s a hell of a life this illness gives you.

Today instead of deliberating between dvds and the pc I lay in bed going over all the things I need to get across to this medical assessor tomorrow. It’s depressed me even more than usual *sniff* this is why I try not to think about it if I can help it, I get miserable.
I need to tell him about the aches and pains, the confusion, the conversational difficulties, the exhaustion, the fact that all of the above leave me depressed and unmotivated. Every time I feel well enough to start looking for a job, to better myself and try digging a way out of this financial hellhole, I come down with something new that saps my hard earned energy and sucks me back down into this boredom infested half life.
And what does my specialist have to say about all this? “you’ve completed all the treatments we have on offer, i’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do for you”.

Is it any wonder i’m depressed?

Basically I’ve been left to rot by the medical profession, according to the CBT discharge letter I’m “sophisticated enough in my understanding of the illness to self treat” which basically means I can manage my condition and learn to live as full a life as possible within the boundaries of it’s limitations – by myself.

It doesn’t mean “you’re cured” it doesn’t mean “this treatment has had no discernable effect so you need to try something else” it means “we’ve done our bit, it didn’t work so we’re washing our hands of you”.

And the worst part of it is, I still look normal! When I do go out and about I look like any other normal healthy lass of working age, no wonder the benefits agency treat me like a malingering con artist.

The thing is – if it wasn’t for Stef I doubt I’d look half as good, I certainly wouldn’t have the energy levels I do. He cooks for me, he nags at me to eat and drink and reminds me to take my supplements, he drags me out of bed if necessary and reminds me of things that need doing – he’s the reason I take any care over my appearence, I want to look good for him.
He’s my sole reason for getting up of a day – without his nagging, cajoling and loving presence i’d be in bed all the time and i’d stink.

I just wish I knew what it is about me that makes him bother.

Meh – i’m feeling sorry for myself again, time to stop thinking about this thing and worrying about losing my sorry excuse of an income and do something constructive, this place hasn’t been cleaned in weeks, I haven’t eaten and i’m sure the love of my life would like a cuppa, I may never finish a task but at least I can use a good day like today to start a few.
I’ll blame the miserable weather for my miserable mood – and I’m sure if I check a calendar I can work in a nod to the pms demon as well, not sleeping well also has it’s place and.. well, whatever the cause I need to crank up the tunes and dustbust my way out of it.
Or at least try..